Coldness, dragging her deeper, deeper into the abyss.
She can't get a breath in, the pressure is unbelievable.
The light above her is vanishing quickly, yet she can't get her limbs to move.
She's stuck, and getting moreso every second.
-
It's the forty-fifth day of Geneviah's job at the docks, and she was sick of it forty-four days ago.
Being a dockloader for various ships coming in and out of Sankhurst's dock is one of the last few jobs she hasn't done yet, and once she wraps up this and those, she has to pick a job placement.
It's either the mines, usurping the Governor, or working on a ship, and at least one of them has a much higher chance of death than the others.
A sigh escapes her mouth as she picks up the metal box of rations. The dock isn't bustling at the moment; only a guy in a coat watching the private-for-hire area and a single boat, meaning most of her coworkers are chilling out with her manager.
...who has a nasty expression on his face. How long was she staring at the box of rations before picking it up, exactly?
He yells from across the docks. "Get a move on, slowpoke! The ship won't load itself!"
God, even his badgering is unoriginal. She starts towards the ship moored against the docks, hoisting the next box with her. If they'd done any work, they'd be done already and she could go home.
Neddy was probably worried about her, the wonderful man. Though he usually was worried about her for one reason or another. It was "You're bouncing around too much! You need to settle on something and get good at it before Municipal puts you somewhere you don't want to be!" one day and "You need to eat better!" the next.
If her brother hadn't taken care of her her whole life, she'd think he was just a worrywart. With that, though, he was probably just succumbing to parental instincts.
She stepped onto the boat's deck, the girl on board looking up from what she was hunched over when she did. Her eyes were focused into slits, but she opened up at seeing her with the box. A lazy wave came her way, but her attention shifted back onto whatever was in her lap before Geneviah could wave back.
Like she had for the last few thousand trips on this damned boat, she awkwardly clambered for the cabin door's lever to open it, relief settling in her when it did. Geneviah hoisted the box into the bay under the trapdoor in the cabin, placing it with the others.
Her eyes swept the cramped space. It's actually about three-fourths done, not halfway. Her legs burned, and she took a deep breath. She could do this.
Relief flooded her aching arms as she climbed up, stopping halfway. Her line of sight was directly facing pants, not the metal wall of the cabin. Her eyes traveled up from the weathered pants to the angular face of the girl from the deck.
She hadn't actually looked at her face that closely. She'd been too focused on getting the damned job done so she could get off work, but... this girl was pretty. She made a frown look good, with her brows furrowed and arms crossed below her chest.
Ship girl's opened her mouth, paused, and then started again. "Why are you working alone?" Her voice was rough, deep. Geneviah'd call it disuse, but each word was measured, not hesitant.
"My coworkers aren't pulling their weight. Believe me, I'm going to the Docks rep after my shift." She said, clenching the ladder. "You guys probably need whatever's in the boxes too, right? Someone's gotta do it."
The ship girl nodded. "We do. But... you do know that you've taken so long to load it that going to the Docks representative, talking to him for fifteen minutes, and bringing him back would've taken less time than you've spent loading the boat?"
Geneviah felt a flush creeping up her face. "Look! I'm not gonna leave a bunch of boxes on the dock. Sorry it's interrupting whatever -" she punctuated the statement with a wave of her hand, taking it off the ladder to do so. "- you're doing, but I'd like to finish it up so I can report my terrible colleagues and even worse manager. Can I climb up now?"
"Oh!" The girl's rough voice shot up in surprise. "I didn't know I was blocking you. Sorry."
As she stepped back, Geneviah scrambled up the ladder. Her hands flexed, trying to work out the cramps that had built up. "Not a problem. I'll see you in a second when I go and grab another ration box."
She waved behind her, hearing a low "Yeah, sure." in response, before exiting the cabin and stepping off the deck and onto the dock.
Geneviah stretched skyward, letting the last cramps ease out. I don't care how ridiculous I look.
The sky was a brilliant blue, pinpointed with spots of complete darkness and brightness. The sun was shining high, directly above her. The city to the right of her was bustling at this time of day: some were in the factories, but weekends often had reduced hours. The cape was vast to her right: she knew it opened up into an ocean, but it looked so massive from where they were.
The scale of the city and the ocean dwarfed her. Inadequacy crept through her, before she stamped it out with a vengeance. Who's been the one who has worked through most of the boxes, huh? Who has keep at this job for the last forty five days while her coworkers goof off? Geneviah, that's who!
Actually, they aren't even goofing off! They just look bored, and one of them is napping! Instead of waking up her coworker, her manager was staring daggers at her because she had the audacity to stretch.
Frustration boiled up. I don't need this. She abandoned picking up one of the boxes, and started stalking towards her fellow dockloaders-in-name-only, wishing she had sleeves so she could roll them up.
She got halfway there before she heard lowered discussion from one of the private-for-hire stalls she was passing. Her gaze snapped to it: she was too nosy for her own good, honestly.
It was the man from earlier who was watching the private-for-hire section. I guess he picked someone., she mused. He had his hands on the stall's top and was leaning into it.
She couldn't see his expression, but his tone of voice spelled it out perfectly. "You're charging too much. My last contractor didn't quote a price nearly as harsh per trip, and he was on us for three trips before duty called." He was gruff, barely simmering frustration under his tone.
The man he was speaking to: portly, a mustache with a shirt covered in some kind of purple powder. He had his hands held out, gesturing to the world. "Then you're free to talk to anyone else here, sir. But I'm the lowest rate you'll get, especially for something this urgent."
Now, Geneviah could politely be described as impulsive.
Some would call her impetuous to a fault, disregarding consequences in favor of short-team gratification. Thanks, Neddy.
But Geneviah is, primarily, a creature of desire. She wants to experience it at all! It's why she's a dockloader, and was a message runner for the Commerce department before this, and a factory safety inspector before that.
And this? This sounds interesting. This sounds like something she should get into before the true negotiations start.
Before she totally agrees to it, her body commits, and she begins a casual walk towards the two men. The precursor to what's likely to be an explosive negotiation builds in volume as she trundles closer.
"Four hundred credits per trip? You're telling me no private esser in the entire docks can offer something better than that?" His voice raised, attracting the attention of the other private-for-hires.
Before she knew what she was doing, she spoke up, voice clear and carrying. "Actually, I can do you better: one-hundred per trip."
The man in the coat whirled around, and she got a good look at his face and posture. Good thing she did, too: he was not happy. His expression was folded into disbelief, and he radiated tension. "One hundred? Really?"
The man in the stall - for simplicity's sake in her head, she's just gonna call him Stall Guy - barked a laugh. "Yeah, kid. You really willing to risk yourself for one hundred credits?"
She nodded. "What? Not my fault you think you can't handle it."
Stall Guy spluttered something about impudence in younger workers, and the Coat Guy looked at her closely. "You sure you got what it takes? I need an essence worker of high skill."
Aw, shit. That's something Geneviah had been avoiding in her jobs. She got a working knowledge of it in her education, everyone did, but it had never clicked for her. She was no good with a chisel.
She must've hesitated a second too long, because doubt had crept into Coat Guy's expression, bleeding off some of the tension. "I'm surprised you asked, is all." What am I doing? "I'm very skilled with a chisel." I'm not!
Her internal panic must've been very convincingly hidden, because Coat Guy bought it. "Well, if you say so. Yours is the best offer I think I'll get; besides, just between you and me -" he says, at normal volume. "- I have a good Instinct about you."
Geneviah recognised the emphasis on the Instinct, but couldn't place it. She saw Stall Guy bolt up from his chair behind the stall, and point to him. "I didn't know you were Titled! I'll do fifty credits per trip, if you tell me how you got it!"
Titled. Geneviah felt a stone drop into her stomach: she had lied to a Titled individual. Fuck. Her skin felt cold, the weight of that one slip-up were pressing down on her. Did he know? She fought to keep her face from betraying her the flood of panic.
This was bad. Geneviah could usually get away with hornswoggling any random individual for a job, just to find some new experience: anything she needed to know she could pick up on the job. But this? Titled peoples get respect that others don't. They deserve it, after all. They got Titled.
Geneviah just committed a really, really harsh fuck-up: it's said that Titled people can always recognie a lie, but most just let it go. If they didn't? A way harsher punishment. They're very important people, after all. Nobody would ever lie to one for a potential job on a whim, would they?
Geneviah kept her bravado plastered on her face, knowing he hadn't call her on his lie yet. Would he let her walk away? Could she pretend to not know him for the rest of her, likely tough, life? Fat chance.
The Titled Coat Guy turned towards Stall Guy. "Oh, now you're willing to work with me? No, I don't think so. I've already chosen my essence worker. Thanks for the offer, though." He turned back around immediately after ending the sentence, coat swishing as he faced Geneviah.
"I can see you're in the middle of your shift. We can meet back at the docks: there's a café nearby that I go to when I'm on shore leave. We can discuss the job further there. It's the Commerce Café: you know it?" He looked at her expectantly.
Her brain caught up, far too late with reality, that she should nod. She knew the Commerce Café. She knew it was beyond her price range. She nodded.
Titled Coat Guy scratched his chin, and looked at her thoughtfully. "Fantastic. At... seven sundown? We're setting off at ten sundown, so if you're committed, you should bring changes of clothes and toiletries."
She nodded again. Clothes and toiletries. She'd need to buy something to carry it in: Neddy'd understand.
"I'll see you then." He said. Then, he walked off towards the ship. The ship that Geneviah had just been loading with rations.
What the hell have I gotten myself into? She fought the urge to bury her head in her hands. I don't know the first thing about any of this.
-
"I don't know what the hell you've gotten yourself into."
Geneviah put another shirt in her brand new carrying bag. She rolled her eyes, though Neddy can't see it from the entrance to her room. "Neddy, I know. But I've never worked for a Titled person before. At least, directly. This is something new!"
She grabbed some underwear off the floor and shoved it in. She heard his shoes hit the floor behind her, approaching. "You've done some things before, Genevie. And I've put up with it for a while. But lying to a Titled man? That's beyond it."
Her hands curled into fists and pressed against her clothes in the duffel bag. "Yes, I know. Neddy, you're talking about this like I walked up to a man with a big sign saying 'I'm Titled and can ruin your life if you mess with me!'"
Pain shot up her arm from her palm, fingernails digging into it. "I don't exactly know what else to do than meet him?! He saw my manager, and I spoke with one of his crew members! If I don't show, he's just gonna track me down for ditching him!"
A sigh. Then, she felt his arms close around her. "I know. Just... promise you'll go there with the intent to turn it down?" His voice turned conciliatory, and shame crept up her chest for snapping at him. He just wants what's best for me.
She shrugged herself out of his embrace and turned to face him. His expression... she wishes had done it sooner. His frown threatened to escape his face with the force of it, and stress was evident in every part of his face. "I can't promise that, Neddy. I've picked up work before: if the job is too good to turn down, me turning it down might arouse suspicion."
Neddrick crossed his arms, and looked at her. Disappointment commingled with stress in his eyes. "I know you. I've seen you do this before, Geneviah. Every time you've done it past, it's worked, but the worst you could've gotten us there is a fine on our monthly credit allotment. This? This can get us kicked out Sankhurst entirely, and where are we gonna go?"
He gestured to the wall. Their apartment had no windows. Even if they did, it would just be concrete on the outside. Not a whole lot to see on a basement level.
"There's nothing out there besides the mining outposts. I don't fancy our chances. You need to say no to this man, I don't care what he offers you."
With any luck, she'd never be found out, so he was worrying over nothing. But he knew what was best. He had taken care of her for her whole life, as long as she could remember. When her mother was too busy running messages for the Municipal zone, he stepped up. But she couldn't get him in trouble due to her own bluffs and desire to see the new.
A solution unfolded in her mind like a flower undergoing bloom, and her heart broke as she considered it.
"Okay." She said. Relief flickered across his face, and he opened his mouth as she paused. She cut him off. "Kick me out, then. Go to Housing and say we got into a spat, but it was a personal thing." Relief turned to dismay. "Make it known that you're not associated with me anymore. If I get found out, then you're fine. If I don't, I can come back."
"Genevie..." He looked at war with himself. If she weren't telling him to essentially drop her from his life, she'd find the journey his face was on funny. "I can't do that. I won't."
She spread her arms, chest hurting from the emotions rolling through her. "Then I'll make it easy. I'm going there to accept his offer of employment. Housing should be accepting visitors until six sundown, so you can roll over there while I finish packing. I'll be out of here by the time you get home."
She blinked, tears trying to form in her eyes. "And if they find out? It's not on you."
Nothing's ever been this bad before, she thought. There's been a lot, but this takes the cake.
He nodded. "I can't have you here if you do this. I want you here, I need you in my life, but I can't support this. It's reckless, it's foolish, and you're gonna get yourself arrested."
"You don't know that, Neddy." She had to admit it was likely, internally, but she's picked up harder things on the job before.
"It's hard to know anything with you." He muttered. "I'm not gonna kick you out. If you still go ahead with this with me on the line, then that should weigh on your conscious. But you don't get to try and force me out of your life so you can destroy it."
Silence settled like a heavy blanket, the kind people bankrupt themselves to buy when the cold sets in.
Slowly, as though on auto-pilot, she began to start packing again. She had three arcs until seven sundown, and the docks were at least half an arc away.
Neddrick frowned, then sighed. Then he left the room, letting the curtain that served as a privacy block between her room and the main room.
The heavy silence wrapped around her, and all she could do was let out a shuddering breath.
It'd be alright. They would be. They'd have to be.
-
Her duffel bag was hoisted over her shoulder as she stood outside the Commerce Café. The place looked just barely nicer than the other buildings, its bricks a little cleaner, a soft light coming through the open doorway.
She and Neddy hadn't spoken before she had left. She'd spotted him eating dinner at the table, but... she couldn't talk to him after what they had discussed. It would've blown up again.
She loved him, she truly did. But he didn't understand.
She had to do this. She couldn't pass up on something this unique.
With confidence in stride that she truly only slightly felt, she entered into the café.
Now, Geneviah was no stranger to ritzier places. Her various bosses had taken her and her coworkers out to nicer places to celebrate some work goal or encourage team cohesion. She was always tenuously accepted at them: she was placed at her jobs with the express knowledge she'd be leaving shortly after, and that didn't exactly endear her to her coworkers.
This, though? This was a step above.
It was a cozy entryway, with an exit into a hallway through an empty doorway. In an alcove to her right, leaning against the wall, was a man. Probably the doorkeeper, at a place like this. At her steps, he straightened up and looked at her. "Hello, miss. Do you have a reservation?"
"Uh..." escaped her mouth. She didn't know this place took reservations. "If I didn't, would I be able to go in anyway?"
He looked annoyed. "No, ma'am, you cannot. This is a private establishment for high-class citizens, and you both do not look or act the part. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Geneviah raised her hands. "I'm supposed to meet a Titled man here! I met him at the Docks earlier!" Her words didn't slow the man's narrowing eyes and increasingly tense posture, like he expected a fight.
Well, she'd fight. Not just not like he expected. "He said to meet me at seven sundown! Tell me you don't have a reservation for a Titled man at about five minutes ago for two, and I'll eat my hat."
Geneviah was, notably, not wearing a hat. This line had caused enough befuddlement in the past to win the verbal spars she often got herself into.
"I'm afraid I can't divulge our reservations list. Even if I could, why would that mean anything?" He jabbed a finger at her. "You probably just watched him walk in, anyway."
Smugness ran its way through her. "Ha! So he did get here just a bit ago! Go talk to him, or get someone else to. He's expecting me! Tell him the blonde dockloader who saved him credits for an experienced esser got here."
The doorkeeper paused. He scratched his head, and then stepped out of the alcove while holding up a hand. "Malorie! Can you talk to table seven? Ask him if he's expecting a dockloader."
Murmured assent floated back into the entryway, and Geneviah stood in the entrance, foot tapping the ground. She had the song of the Flying Dixies flowing through her mind, a decently popular song the last time she attended a show.
She got to the second verse - Oh weep, for one has fallen. We all saw it coming, heard it in our hearts, maudlin. - by the time a woman appeared in the entrance. She was shapely, nearly the exact opposite of Boat Girl. Where Boat Girl had been all angular: elbows, face, and expression, the servergirl was soft.
"Yes, Hiram is awaiting a dockloader who also works as an essence worker. He said that," her eyes moved to Geneviah. "she should keep that in mind in here."
Geneviah smiled, fear hiding behind yet more bravado. "As if I could ever forget." She turned her gaze back to the doorkeeper. "I'm good to enter then, Governor?"
He scowled. "Yes. Have a pleasant meal, miss." He disappeared back into the alcove as he spoke, done with her.
"Lead the way, Malorie." Geneviah said, keeping that same smile. The servergirl nodded and led Geneviah through the right turn out of the entrance through a long hallway.
"Have you ever dined with the Commerce Café before, miss?" Malorie asked. She could hear a hint of a smile in it, probably due to her clothes. She knew this place was fancy, but not "turn away the poor" fancy. Didn't expect to have to wear one of my zero nice shirts or my zero dress pants...
"No." was all she said. Anything more would've given away the game: she was totally and completely out of her depth here.
A beat and two doors - labeled three and four, respectively - passed by. "Ah. Well, each reservation gets a special dining room. Yours, the seventh, is on the second floor of the building."
"That's nice." She plainly said. The walls were almost unnervingly well maintained, and as they walked along, she realised they were going up slightly: there were no stairs, but they were going up. Their footsteps echoed strangely around the silent hall, and a chill ran up her spine.
This building is so, so weird.
Finally, they arrived at six and, to Geneviah's left, seven. Malorie turned around, and gave a little nod. "I trust you can see yourself in. Hiram ordered ahead for you on drinks, but I'll be by shortly with those and our dinner options." She waited for a beat.
Geneviah, belatedly, realised she had been waiting for a dismissal. "Yeah, thanks. Appreciate it." With that, Malorie swiftly walked down the way they had just come.
Before she entered, she took a deep breath. So what if the Commerce Café was wildly outside of her wheelhouse? What if her interacting with the Titled Coat Guy - Hiram, apparently - got her arrested because she lied to him? She would face it with a smile, and do her best to convince the Enforcers that Neddy had nothing to do with it.
She pushed at the door - a heavy thing - and opened it to see the man from her afternoon sitting across a table from an empty seat. He still had on his coat, and his head had turned towards the door. A small smile broke across his face as he recognised her.
"Ah, good to see you. And with a duffel bag, too. I was worried you weren't going to accept. Come, come," he motioned to the chair across from him. "Sit down. Malorie should be in with the drinks soon."
She started forward, examining the room as she walked. "Thanks, Hiram. Just realised I never introduced myself, I'm Geneviah." The room was as cosy as the entryway to the café, with the only furniture being the table, the two chairs, and large window with a screen facing the street.
Geneviah could see the sunset through it.
"Nice to meet you, Geneviah." He looked at her, and watched as she sat down. Then he continued. "Let's talk about the job."
She put her hands on the table and steepled her fingers. "Yes, let's. So, you need an essence worker. I assume for your boat?"
He nodded. "Yes. I don't know if you've ever been on a boat." A pause, a chance to hop in and explain. Geneviah wasn't falling for that. She was in her element, negotiating with people. Sure, it's higher stakes, but I've done this loads of times. "Mine is propelled forward in the ocean by a series of kinetic propulsive glyphs that my current only long-time essence worker, Sae, makes."
She nodded her agreement, like she knew what a kinetic propulsive glyph even was. "And she's falling behind?" That's typically why someone hires a private worker, anyway.
He shook his head. "To the contrary: she's done exceptionally well. That's my concern. She's overworking herself, and she's going to burn herself out on this trip or the next. I need you to relieve her workload a fair bit, and, if you can, get her to relax a little." He leaned back.
Geneviah went to say, Are you for real? but the door opened. The shock of what she had been about to do hit her like a sledgehammer as the servergirl stepped forward to place their cups on the table. For god's sakes, Geneviah, you cannot lose it right now.
"Water for the Titled Hiram, and a house specialty for the miss." Malorie said. She straightened up, and started speaking a clearly prepared menu.
"So, the house special for the night is a stew, slow cooked to perfection by our chefs. We also have our normal dishes: a broiled mushroom strips appetizer, crumbly and divine, our variety of salads with insect protein options, our soups, and finally, our baked frites as an accompaniment to any meal." She nods after finishing.
Hiram simply responds with a request for the mushroom strips and the house special, and both gazes turn to Geneviah. Her breath quickens despite her control. Have to remain calm. What did she say? Salads?
"I'll take a cockraoch salad, please. No onions."
That was... evidently the wrong thing to say. The servergirl's face endures a flash of shock, before snapping back to mild hospitality. "Yes, that'll be the iceberg salad with cockroach as the protein, the mushroom strips, and the house stew. Anything else?"
Geneviah shakes her head, and Hiram does the same. Malorie leaves the room at fast pace. Yeesh, that was not the way to order that here, apparently.
She turned back to the Titled man she was lying to this fine evening, and saw him leaning forward across the table. A hint of levity graced his voice: "You've never eaten here before, have you?"
She shook her head. "No, I haven't. This place is far, far, outside my budget. They barely even let me in the door." She shakes her head again. "So, we were talking about the job."
He raises a hand, leaning back into his chair. "We will, we will. I don't want to hire someone I don't know. So, you don't usually eat here? Where do you?"
Well, shit. "Wherever's closest to where I'm working. Either that or my brother packs me a lunch."
He hummed thoughtfully. "So you've been a for-hire essence worker for multiple places? How many clients have you had?"
Aw, shit. She gave a hmm of her own to buy her time. She didn't know any essence workers personally, especially ones that sold their services. At the Docks or otherwise.
She started. "Fi-" and his eyebrow raised. Shit. "-fteen. Fifteen clients in total over the last two years."
He leaned forward. "Any notable ones?" How am I supposed to know?! I haven't ever worked with glyphs?!
Fear churning, she scrambled for an answer. Essence knowledge, glyph knowledge...
The only things she had ever seen essence being used for was artwork, like the sculpture in Municipal that got refreshed once and a while. Or... there was this one guy Neddrick worked with...
"Actually, I do have one you might find interesting." She propped her chin up on her hand, false confidence hiding the buzzing of her nerves. "My brother introduced me to this artist: he wanted to create a series of glyphs that would cast light in different colors to create a multifaceted rainbow. It was pretty impressive, once the construction was finished."
He nodded. "So, how were you involved? Glyph artists can usually do their own art."
She shook her head. "This specific glyph artist..." did it all on his own, not including me, since I have no idea how to do glyphs "...just needed a set of extra hands. I did the glyphs in the green to purple range, and he did the glyphs from red to yellow."
He nodded, again. "How long did it take you?"
Geneviah felt like she was clawing at the walls of her own mind, trying to figure out literally any information on glyphs she had internalised. "Four days, working night and day along with him in his place." Please let that be close.
The Titled man closed his eyes, internalizing that. She sat in tense silence as he seemingly drifted out of the conversation entirely.
She chanced a glance out the window: the sun was dipping lower of the horizon. How long had she been here, half an hour? Three-quarters of a full hour?
She returned to watching his face, only to see him watching her right back. "I think you'll be perfect for the trip. It's four days out to our fishing spout, five back with the extra load. Can you spare that much time away from Sankhurst?"
She nodded, voice not betraying her hesitancy in the answer. "My job as a dockloader was let go today after I stopped by the Docks representative after I finished with your boat's loading."
Careful phrasing there on Geneviah's part did not reveal that she no longer had that job because she was, in fact, being blamed by her manager and coworkers for how slow the loading went. "We tried to help her!" is what they claimed, relayed by the representative. The bastards.
The Titled man grinned. "Then I think we have a deal. Welcome to the Shanty, Geneviah." The door begins to be pushed open, and he stops speaking to look towards it. "Chow down. We'll be relying on the rations you gave us from here on out."
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- Stillwater